erased by a passing breeze.

Come, stray into my heart, you tender little feet, and leave the
everlasting print of songs on my dreamland path.



7


I am like the night to you, little flower.

I can only give you peace and a wakeful silence hidden in the dark.

When in the morning you open your eyes, I shall leave you to a world a-hum
with bees, and songful with birds.

My last gift to you will be a tear dropped into the depth of your youth; it
will make your smile all the sweeter, and bemist your outlook on the
pitiless mirth of day.



8


Do not stand before my window with those hungry eyes and beg for my secret.
It is but a tiny stone of glistening pain streaked with blood-red by
passion.